


Homebound

by thedaughterofkings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Ealdor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Arthur, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur becomes king, Merlin loses not only his purpose, but his place at Arthur’s side. Therefore he decides to go home, but Arthur won’t let Merlin slip out of his life that easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homebound

**Author's Note:**

> For [Clara](http://http://www.loverofcake.tumblr.com/), who gave me the first sentence as a prompt and is just the very best! Thank you for all your help and support!
> 
> This was originally part of an ask game on tumblr where I got the first sentence of a fic and was only supposed to write the next five sentences. Well, I obviously failed this challenge, considering that [my first reply](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/post/144874388281/it-was-in-the-second-year-of-arthurs-reign-that) was already over 500 words long, and the end product is now over 12k. But hopefully I failed it in the best way possible!
> 
> Much thanks to my awesome beta, [Larissa](http://www.ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com), who has worked her magic on this!

It is in the second year of Arthur's reign that Merlin decides to leave Camelot for good.

 

The first year is busy beyond even Merlin’s imagination - Camelot accepts her new King immediately, but the surrounding kingdoms underestimate Arthur and attack at first chance. Arthur gathers all of his allies, everyone who can offer him even a little strength, and even enters into an alliance with the druids towards the end, promising to bring back magic to the land in return.

 

And somehow, against all odds, he not only defeats his enemies, but actually unites Albion under the rule of Camelot and her King.

 

But for Merlin that only means he has lost his purpose, and even his place in Camelot. His destiny is fulfilled, Arthur is King of all of Albion, magic thrives again, and by rights Merlin should be happy, proud of his achievements.

 

All he feels is a sense of loss, though, because somewhere along the way Arthur has drifted away from him. It had started with George taking over the role of Arthur’s manservant in Camelot - because the King’s personal servant couldn’t be a village boy who still has no idea what he is doing most of the time, at least not when it comes to proper protocol for the interaction of master and servant. At least Merlin had still been allowed to attend him in the field. 

 

But then even that had stopped; Arthur took on a squire, a nobleman’s first son, who dressed and undressed him from then on, cared for his horses and his wounds. Merlin was sent back to Camelot to assist Gaius, but there was no way he could leave Arthur’s side and still protect him, so Merlin ignored his orders and stayed with the campaign.

 

But he can no longer sleep in Arthur’s tent, eat at Arthur’s fire, ride on Arthur’s side. Instead he joins the camp followers, sleeps wrapped in just his coat on the naked earth, eats whatever he can find, and walks, and walks, and walks.

 

And Arthur never notices.

 

No one notices.

 

This newfound invisibility allows him to use his powers more openly, though, without the fear of Arthur discovering his secret and having him killed for it. Merlin’s magic turns the tide of the war, and no one cares.

 

Once back in Camelot, Merlin hopes that things will change again, but Arthur is surrounded by advisors now, what feels like day and night, and Merlin only ever sees him at banquets, high up on the dais. For the first time ever, Merlin truly feels like a servant - and a useless servant at that. Gaius has found a new assistant in the meantime, a young girl whose magic has a propensity for healing, not killing, like Merlin’s seems to. And of course it makes more sense for her to sleep in the tiny room off Gaius’ chamber, than it does for Merlin.

 

And instead of moving into the servants’ quarters, where he’d be an outcast now, formerly of higher status than everyone else, now of no status at all, he decides to move home.

 

~*~

 

Arthur’s first year as King of Camelot feels like a dream, often a nightmare. It’s as though he breathes out when his father dies and never gets a chance to take in another breath. He hasn’t had a moment to himself since he closed the door to his father’s chambers behind him. His father’s advisors had descended on him like vultures on carrion, demanding his attention wholly, asking for his opinion on everything from the colour of the tapestries at his coronation to how many new lords he planned to install in the first year. Arthur told them none and sent them towards Morgana for any questions regarding the coronation ceremony. It ends up a resplendent celebration in red and gold, but the only thing Arthur remembers with any clarity is Merlin’s face, alight with pride and breaking into a huge grin before leading the crowd into a shout: 

 

“Long live the King!”

 

The first month after the coronation passes in relative peace - literally. The Lords of Camelot who couldn’t make it to the ceremony arrive one by one to swear fealty to Arthur as they swore it to his father before him. Arthur slowly gets used to the increased weight on his head and on his shoulders, to making decisions without looking over his shoulder for his father’s approval. Morgana stays close to his side, an unwavering support that doesn’t hesitate to call him out either. Gaius also offers him valuable advice when Arthur asks for it, and it is to those two that he first confesses in secret that he’s considering overturning his father’s ruling on magic. He just doesn’t know how to break it to his official advisors and the rest of the country yet. There’ve been no executions yet since he became King but he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to prevent them before someone gets suspicious.

 

Arthur barely sees Merlin during that month, the chores of the King’s manservant being much greater than that of the Crown Prince’s. So he asks for George to come back and take over some of Merlin’s tasks, to ease his load somewhat. 

 

At the start of the second month, however, reports start coming in about skirmishes at the borders, raids and attacks that seem to serve no purpose. His advisors blame gangs of thieves, but Arthur is sure that there’s some order to it, some pattern that he just can’t see yet. And then the declarations of war arrive and it becomes clear that apparently all of Albion has united against Camelot. Arthur gathers his army, calls upon what allies he still has and secretly hopes for nothing more than to die with honour. At least he gets to see more of Merlin again while they’re on campaign, a thought that immediately fills him with guilt. In Camelot the only time Arthur got to see Merlin anymore was when he went out for a ride and Merlin handed him the reins. Because apparently Merlin had chosen to tend to Arthur’s horses rather than Arthur himself when given the chance to lessen his workload although Arthur meant for it to be the other way round. But then he remembers all of Merlin’s complaints at Arthur being too lazy and demanding, at having to clean both his clothes, and armour, and the stables, and the guilt stops him from saying anything to Merlin.

 

On the campaign Merlin has to do all those chores alone again, and at first Arthur just tries to quieten the voice in his head that tells him that he’s being selfish by giving Merlin as many comforts as he can - food from his own bowl, a cot in his own tent, a horse to ride next to him, although that’s all against proper protocol. But then they actually meet the enemy and during every battle Arthur is distracted by thoughts of Merlin being injured, being killed. It gets so bad that Arthur isn’t able to concentrate properly and is injured. It’s just a nick, nothing even remotely life-threatening, but that night, with Merlin’s gentle and sure hands cleaning and bandaging the cut and his voice complaining lightly about having to mend Arthur’s tunic and get his chainmail repaired, Arthur makes up his mind and sends Merlin home. He tries to explain himself without giving away his true reason - his pure fear for Merlin’s safety - and this is the right decision, this is supposed to make him feel better, but Merlin’s shocked and white face just makes the guilt worse, until it’s a heavy weight in his stomach, making him nauseous.

 

But this  _ is  _ the right thing to do, so Arthur ignores Merlin’s protests and stays firm in his decision. He takes on a squire for the first time ever, the eldest son of one of his Lords, a blonde, stocky boy, skin darkened by the sun, who serves him silently. If he chose the squire that least resembles Merlin then that happened by pure chance.

 

He keeps seeing Merlin all around the camp nevertheless, in every dark head of hair, glimpse of blue eyes, in one of the camp followers, the women and men who provide for those soldiers who do not have their own servants, offering food, and drink, and sex. Arthur also sees someone who looks like Merlin on the battlefield occasionally, appearing here and there, always leaving a trail of knocked out enemies behind him.

 

Indeed, the fortunes of war seem to have turned in their favour since Merlin has left, probably because Arthur is no longer as distracted - his thoughts are still filled with Merlin, wondering if he made it back to Camelot safely, but the fear is no longer as pressing. They win most of their battles now, without great losses even, and Arthur can feel the morale of his troops improving, hears his men singing at the fires again where they were quiet and subdued when they started. But he doesn’t dare join their celebrations yet, aware that these battles have been but tests of their strength and that the real trial is still to come. There’ve been reports of their enemies joining forces not too far from where Arthur’s army is currently resting after the latest battle and there is no way Camelot can resist their combined strength.

 

That night, the camp is visited by a group of mysterious visitors who make it all the way to Arthur’s fire without being intercepted by his soldiers. Only when Leon jumps up, sword drawn to face them, do the others perceive them. Their leader bows his head and shows his empty hands, free of any weapon, just like his companions. Not that they have need for any weapons as Arthur learns soon after, because this is an envoy from the Druids, sent to offer Arthur their help in this war in return for his word that magic will become a part of Camelot once again. Arthur gladly enters into an alliance with them, hoping that their powers will allow him to put an end to the fighting once and for all. His decision is also made easy by the fact that their only demand is not as hard for him to fulfill as they might think. He has long since realised that magic is not the sole evil that his father believed it was, and this alliance is just the reason he needs to overturn his father’s laws.

 

The druids can’t know that, though, and when Arthur asks their leader, Iseldir, why they chose to join him, who apparently followed his father’s ways, instead of his enemies, whose stances towards magic are not all as negative, Iseldir just smiles enigmatically and says: 

 

“Our place is with you and Emrys; it is your destiny and so it’s ours.”

 

Arthur tries to get a clearer answer out of him, or even just some information on who or what this ‘Emrys’ is supposed to be, but Iseldir refuses to tell him anything else, just promising that all will become clear to him eventually. The temptation is great to command Iseldir to answer him truthfully  _ now _ , but Arthur can hear Merlin scolding him about behaving like a brat in his head, and he’s aware himself that he has no authority over the druids anyways, so he accepts Iseldir’s cryptic answers graciously - or at least as graciously as he can.

 

With the druids’ help Camelot actually wins the final and deciding battle, and somehow, Arthur doesn’t even really know how himself, he finds himself being High King of all of Albion. It doesn’t go quite as quickly as that makes it sound; the negotiations are tough, but in the end Camelot comes out on top both in the battle and at the negotiating table. 

 

By the time Arthur finally makes his way home to Camelot, the first year of his reign is already over. He’s looking forward to seeing everyone who stayed behind again (and everyone he sent home, too), to sleeping in his own bed again, to eating Camelot’s finest, just to not be at war anymore. But the peace and calm and quietness that he’s hoping for eludes him at first. There is to be a great celebration for his victory and his new status as High King of Albion, and of course every single detail requires his personal attention. He’d try to let Morgana make these decisions again, but it turns out that she has magic, a power for premonitions and the druids took her away with them to teach her how to read her dreams, how to control her talent, and how to use it. Arthur hasn’t heard from her since she left and it’s yet another thing to worry about. Although he did send Gwen and Lancelot along with her, they are more for company than for protection, as no sword will be a match for the druids’ powers. Arthur’s own victory can attest to that.

 

The other thing that again, always, occupies his mind is Merlin. Now that they’re back in Camelot and Arthur should be able to see him for real, not just in apparitions on the battlefield, he doesn’t catch so much as a glimpse of him. He keeps meaning to ask Gaius about Merlin’s whereabouts, but no opportunity offers itself. Busy as Gaius is with the injured from the war, Arthur seldom sees the man himself, and if he does they’re not in a setting that allows Arthur to enquire after Merlin.

  
So it’s only after the celebratory banquet, almost a month after Arthur has returned home, that he is free to visit Gaius in his chambers, hoping to catch Merlin there. Instead there’s a young girl who turns out to be Gaius’ new assistant, who is apparently very talented, but so awestruck by Arthur’s presence that she can’t get out a single word, not even to tell him when Gaius will be back in his chambers, nevermind where Merlin is. Eventually Arthur stumbles - literally - upon Gaius in one of the corridors, kneeling behind a corner to gather some herbs that must have fallen out of his basket.

 

Arthur quickly kneels down next to him and helps picking up the loose leaves. He accidentally crushes some, while trying to figure out how to ask after Merlin. Hating to admit that he doesn’t know where he is, he just blurts out:

 

“You haven’t seen Merlin lazing about somewhere, have you, Gaius? I haven’t seen him since I came home. Did he make it back alright earlier this year?”

 

Gaius lifts his eyebrow and Arthur’s stomach drops.

 

“He only came back to Camelot a month ago and left again immediately to go home, to Ealdor, to his mother. I’d assumed you knew, sire?”

 

And Arthur can’t do anything but shake his head, and wonder when he lost Merlin.

 

~*~

 

Merlin leaves Camelot as he arrived in it: on his own two feet, a small bag on his back, a handkerchief around his neck, and a stick in his hand. The only new thing in his bag is his book on magic which Gaius insisted he take with him. Still, the boy who came here so long ago wouldn’t recognise the man that leaves today. Merlin has changed; Camelot has changed him, and most of all  _ Arthur _ has changed him. Even now, after almost a year of not being at Arthur’s side every day, Merlin doesn’t know how to, well, live without him, in the most basic sense. He doesn’t know how to live his life without always referring to Arthur first. 

 

And that, more than anything else, is what finally convinces him to leave Camelot for good. Their destiny is fulfilled; Merlin kept Arthur safe; Arthur has united all of Albion and there is literally nothing else that remains for Merlin to do in Camelot. Without a task, or even a place to sleep, and with only getting to see Arthur from afar, there’s nothing to hold him here.

 

So Merlin leaves.

 

It takes him twice as long to come back to Ealdor than it took him to get from there to Camelot all that time ago, and ages longer than the time he rode back home with Gwen, Morgana, and Arthur at his side. He’s all alone now, and there’s no pressing matters awaiting him, no reason to hurry. Instead Merlin tries to enjoy his journey, taking detours down pretty valleys, dipping into cool lakes, and drinking out of happily bubbling streams. And slowly, ever so slowly, he feels himself relax. He stops looking over his shoulder, stops seeing movement and blond hair out of the corner of his eye, stops hearing a voice calling his name with that special emphasis on the first syllable.

 

He doesn’t really use his magic while on the road; there’s no need for it, no dangers to defend himself from, no quests to complete. Merlin has used his magic on Arthur’s behalf for so long now that he doesn’t know what he would use it for now. So he doesn’t, and ignores the power churning within him.

 

At long last he reaches Ealdor. There’s people working on the fields, children picking berries and playing in the mud, running towards him when he crests the hill, and then back again when they realise that he’s a stranger. It’s an unsettling realisation, that he’s a stranger in his home now, gone so long that there’s children who have never seen him in their lives. He’s not even sure all of the adults recognise him, judging by the suspicious looks thrown his way. But before he can truly worry about his decision to return here, a loud shout breaks through the fresh morning air:

 

“Merlin! Cariad!”

 

It’s his mother, running towards him, her skirts in hand, basket lying forgotten behind her. Merlin drops his walking stick and catches her in his arms, laughing and, to his own surprise, crying at the same time. His mother’s embrace makes him feel as though he’s all of five years old again. She squeezes him hard once more and then takes a step to be able to look at him properly, taking his face into her hands.

 

“I am so happy to see you, Merlin. But is everything alright? Is Arthur - the king, I mean - alright? We heard about the war of course, but news travels slowly all the way to Ealdor.”

 

Merlin shakes his head, swallowing hard.

 

“No, everything’s fine, Arthur’s fine.” 

 

He hesitates, not sure how to continue, and his mother promptly asks:

 

“But what brings you here then, cariad?” 

 

Merlin bites his lip, trying to figure out how to answer that question, and eventually settles on:

 

“It was time to come home, mam.”

 

~*~

 

Merlin quickly comes to feel at home in Ealdor again. The other villagers welcome him and his magic with open arms now that they no longer have to fear punishment for hiding him and can instead count on his powers to protect them from raider attacks. Merlin is horrified to realise that this is all he is good for - all his magic has been used for in the last few years is to protect Arthur, and thus, almost all of the spells he knows are of a defensive or offensive nature. And until a raid actually happens, they are of no use at all in Ealdor.

 

So Merlin tries to change that. He knows some tricks, can make butterflies and bumblebees appear to entertain the kids, but the first time he tries to make some potatoes grow more quickly in his mother’s little patch of land, they explode in his face. His mother laughs at him and sends him to wash the raw mashed potato out of his hair, but Merlin is aware that they haven’t really got enough food to spare for him to keep experimenting. So he gets out his book on magic, glad that he took it with him, even though he cursed its weight often on the journey to Ealdor, and starts studying.

 

The book is full of spells he no longer has any need for, spells to break legs, and arms, and necks, to set arrows aflame in the air, to breathe life into inanimate things - with a shudder Merlin remembers Valiant’s shield and quickly turns the page. There’s also a few spells that Merlin hopes never to have occasion to use, spells on how to raise the dead, to poison the water, hide the sun.

 

And then there are the useful spells. Some are actually offensive spells, such as the one that breaks down walls. But instead of attacking a castle, Merlin uses it to knock down the old wall behind his mother’s herbs that threatens to fall down with the next strong blow of wind. Then he builds it up again, using a variety of levitating and feather-weight spells to move the stones, trying to work out which one works best for this purpose. A slipping spell that doesn’t make the stones slip into place like Merlin expected, but actually makes them slippery turns out to be utterly useless, as Merlin’s black toe can attest to which is only slowly turning blue and purple, and finally green and yellow, and back to its usual pink.

 

Afterwards he turns towards the spells that help the crops grow faster, the grass grow greener, and the fruit to ripen earlier. At first, the children of the village keep their distance, watching him work from afar, but when they realise that he won’t scold them, nor do them any harm, they soon grow bolder and gather around him, wherever he might be that day, to demand magic tricks. Merlin looks at their wide eyes and chubby cheeks and feels another knot in his chest loosen. He plucks a few magically ripened apples from the tree he’s sitting under and invites the children to join him on the grass. Then he throws the apples in the air and juggles with them for a bit, much to the delight of his audience. His eyes flaring brightly, his last trick is cutting the apples into pieces in the air and sending a slice or two towards every child in the circle surrounding him.

 

When they’re all happily munching on their apple slices, Merlin sits down between the smallest two and starts telling them a story, one of his adventures with Arthur, carefully edited so that it’s suitable for children’s ears and praises both knight and wizard equally. He forms tiny figures out of grass blades and mud clumps, lets blue butterflies and red dragons dance around them and drinks in the children’s squeals and shouts of joy and excitement with a smile. And if there’s one golden dragon in the form of Camelot’s crest in between all the others, then no one but himself notices.

 

~*~

 

Morgana arrives in Camelot the day before Arthur plans to leave for Ealdor. She appears with remarkably little fanfare, just a small riding party consisting of herself, Gwen, Lancelot, and a young druid who turns out to be the druid boy, Mordred, they’d helped escape together so many years ago now. There had been no message that they would be coming, so all Arthur has time for when a guard informs him about their arrival, is to hurry towards the entrance of the castle to greet them. 

 

Arthur leads them all to his chambers for some privacy, silently trying to figure out how to tell Morgana that he’s going to leave Camelot in the morning - or probably rather during the night, to escape his advisors, who are starting to feel more like prison guards lately. But once the door closes behind them, Morgana says:

 

“Don’t wait till morning, leave now; I’ll take care of everything here.”

 

When Arthur just gapes at her, she laughs and lowers herself into one of the chairs regally. 

 

“I’m a seer, silly, have you forgotten already? The druids have taught me how to read my dreams and I saw you leaving to get Merlin back a week ago. By the way, would you come here for a moment, dear?” she asks, and Arthur, who’d never really thought about what being a seer actually meant, dazedly does as she’s asked, mind whirring.

 

And then he yelps, dragged from his thoughts rather rudely by Morgana slapping him lightly.

 

“What was that for?” he demands, holding his cheek in outrage.

 

“That’s for letting Merlin leave, you idiot! For being so stubborn and  _ blind _ !” Morgana returns, crossing her arms in front of her chest, somehow managing to look down her nose at him even though she has to look up.

 

Arthur ducks his head, acknowledging her chastisement, and sinks into the chair opposite her with a sigh.

 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, Morgana! And now he’s gone and I’m afraid he won’t come back. But I have to at least try!”

 

Morgana reaches out towards him again, and Arthur automatically shrinks back, not really desiring to be slapped again, however deservedly. But she just pats his arm and says:

 

“I know, I know. But seriously, you need to leave soon, don’t wait for the sun, or you won’t leave at all!” 

 

She sounds so serious that Arthur jumps up to gather the bag that’s already packed and waiting next to his bed, ready to set off to reclaim Merlin. Morgana just laughs at him, though, and tugs him back down into his chair. 

 

“Relax, you’ve got enough time for dinner still. Believe me, I can’t wait to have a proper meal again; the druids are all about the berries, and tasty as those are, they are just not all that filling.”

 

In the end it’s after midnight when Arthur leaves, wrapped in a dark green coat courtesy of Morgana, rather than his customary red cloak. He isn’t  _ really _ sneaking away, he tries to argue to himself, Morgana knows where he’s going, and she knows what she’s doing and will be a wonderful interims monarch, and anyways, he wrote Gaius a message. 

 

He’s on horseback, and alone this time, so it takes slightly less time to arrive in Ealdor than it took the first time he went there. Arthur almost wishes he’d taken longer, because now he’s approaching and he still doesn’t really know what to say. He can’t just come out and admit that he misses Merlin, can he? But he’s sure that just demanding that Merlin return with him is not going to be successful either. 

 

It’s too late now to take another detour to think about it some more, though, because Arthur can see the houses and people working on the fields surrounding the village, and that of course means they can see him, too. Already heads are lifting and staring at him, probably wondering what a lone rider on a war horse is doing here. Arthur still remembers which of the houses belongs to Merlin’s mother, so he just ignores all the looks and heads directly there, half hoping to see Merlin, half dreading it.

 

The house turns out to be empty, though, so Arthur busies himself with caring for his horse first, all too aware of being carefully observed all the while. Just when he’s about to turn around and ask one of the onlookers where Merlin or Hunith are, a voice speaks up behind him:

 

“Arthur? Is it really you?”

 

It’s not quite the voice Arthur longs to hear, but he still turns around with a smile and bows slightly.

 

“Hunith! It’s such a pleasure to see you again!” He steps forward to kiss her hand, but Hunith embraces him warmly instead. Arthur breathes in and feels some of the tension that tightens his shoulders leave him. Before he can gather enough courage to ask about Merlin, Hunith whispers into his ear:

 

“He’s in the forest. Just follow the squeals.”

 

And after a last, surprisingly strong squeezes of her arms, she lets him go and, when he doesn’t start moving fast enough, gives him a gentle shove. Arthur bites his lip and then, quickly, darts forward to press a kiss against her cheek and breathe out a thanks.

 

He enters the forest where Hunith pointed him to, internally wondering how he’s supposed to find Merlin - really, squeals? - when there’s loud shouts, clapping, and yes, squeals somewhere to his right further in the forest. Arthur follows the noise, unable to guess what might be causing it. The squealing continues until there’s some shushing, followed by expectant silence that’s broken by the voice Arthur hasn’t heard in too long.

 

“And then the wizard slowed down time so that he could pull the prince to safety. And BAM -” there’s a thud and then many high voices screaming, “- the dagger of the bad sorceress hits the chair right where the prince’s head was only moments ago.”

 

Arthur has crept closer to the clearing in the meantime, and he finally sees Merlin again, sitting under a large oak, surrounded by wide eyed kids who are hanging on to his every word. Merlin looks happy, Arthur is glad to see, healthy, slightly tanned, hair as messy as always, but without that hard edge to his eyes that Arthur hadn’t even noticed appearing until it had suddenly been there, and he’d had no idea how to make it disappear again. Apparently leaving him, leaving Camelot had done the trick. That thought almost stops Arthur from stepping forward, but he has come so far now that he can’t just leave without even  _ trying _ .

 

“And thus he saved the prince’s life who was forever thankful,” Arthur completes Merlin’s tale, stepping into the clearing, choosing to ignore the new revelations for now - Merlin has magic?

 

Merlin’s eyes dart up at him first, before he jumps up, still staring at Arthur as though he’s an apparition.

 

“Arthur?”

 

Merlin asks incredulously, and Arthur just nods, painfully aware that they are not alone. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they were, but he knows he’d do their reunion differently.

 

“Hello, Merlin,” he says, and wants to kick himself immediately. He’s not really doing a good job of convincing Merlin to come back with him to Camelot so far.

 

“Hello, Arthur,” Merlin replies, eyes twinkling now, and though Arthur has the distinct feeling that he is being laughed at, he’s willing to bear this cross if it makes Merlin smile at him again. Merlin bites his lip, still looking at him, and then ducks his head to address the children who have been staring at both of them in turn:

 

“That’s the story for today, go and run home, would you? I need to talk to this nice man alone.”

 

It doesn’t take long for all of them to leave, though some do so with great reluctance and only when their friends pull them along. When they are all gone, Arthur steps further into the clearing, closer to Merlin:

 

“So I’m nice, aren’t I?” he asks, grinning at Merlin, who rolls his eyes and retorts:

 

“They don’t know what ‘clotpole’ means yet, otherwise I would have used that.”

 

He quickly sobers again, though, and asks: “What are you doing here, Arthur? Don’t you have a kingdom to rule?”

  
Arthur shrugs and answers the easy question first: “Morgana’s taking care of that; I’m sure she’s got everything under perfect control.” 

 

He hesitates before continuing, but Merlin won’t let him get away with evading the question anymore, just raising his eyebrow in a manner disconcertingly reminiscent of Gaius until Arthur starts talking again:

 

“I … didn’t know you were a sorcerer.”

 

Merlin huffs out a laugh, though it doesn’t sound particularly happy.

 

“Of course you didn’t. I did keep a secret, you know?”

 

“But why?” Arthur demands, suddenly realising that he’s not as unruffled as he thought he was about the revelation that Merlin has magic - or rather about the revelation that Merlin has magic and didn’t tell Arthur. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have -”

 

Merlin interrupts him before he can think of what he would have done:

 

“Do the words ‘Off with his head!’ remind you of anything, Arthur?” His voice sounds mocking, but his eyes are pleading with Arthur to listen to him, to  _ understand _ , and Arthur’s trying,  _ really _ .

 

“But what about afterwards?” Arthur asks, brushing past the reference to his father’s treatment of magic users, because he doesn’t know himself what he would have done had Merlin said anything then. He wouldn’t have had Merlin killed, never, but to knowingly, openly defy his father? Magic hasn’t been outlawed for months now, though, and Merlin still never said anything. “You know I’ve made using magic legal again. The druids helped us win the war with their magic! Morgana even went and studied with them! Why didn’t you ever say anything then?”

 

Merlin laughs again and this time it’s definitely not a happy laugh. The sounds he is making are closer to sobs than laughter, actually. He drops to sit on the grass in the clearing again, suddenly, as if his strings had been cut. Alarmed, Arthur quickly kneels down in front of him, trying to see if he is hurt, but Merlin’s head is ducked low and Arthur can’t see his face. Just when Arthur’s reaching out to tilt up his chin, Merlin starts speaking again:

 

“You sent me away before that, don’t you remember? After so many years of being your servant you just sent me away like I was an old coat that had too many holes to mend! When was I supposed to tell you? How was I supposed to tell you?”

 

Arthur feels the shame and guilt flooding him again that has hunted him since he sent Merlin back home, but that also reminds him of something Gaius told him, and he focusses on that instead:

 

“Well, you never listened to me anyways, did you? Gaius said you never came home to Camelot until the rest of the army did? What did you do all of that time? Found yourself a nice little farm girl and played house for a few months?” 

 

It comes out as more accusatory than Arthur means for it to, but before he can take any of it back, Merlin’s head shoots up and his eyes make Arthur jerk back involuntarily, almost causing him to fall over. They are wet, but blazing with righteous indignation.

 

“I was protecting you, you utter clotpole! Like I’ve always done! Though right now I don’t know why I ever did!” Arthur opens his mouth, but Merlin just keeps going without letting him get a word in.

 

“Why do you think you ever won those battles before the druids came? Why do you think you won the war even after the druids came? That was me! I stayed with the camp followers, and I ate their scraps for food, and I walked every mile after you, just to fight for you on the battlefield! I only ever used my magic for you, and never even got so much as a word of thanks!”

 

“You never said,” Arthur breathes out almost voicelessly, mind reeling from all the new information. He holds up a hand when Merlin opens his mouth to probably start in on him again, and rightfully so. But Arthur’s not finished yet, even though he’s still sorting through the thoughts in his head. “You never said anything, Merlin, and yes, at first you couldn’t have, and later you shouldn’t have been able to - though really, why didn’t you just come to me together with or at least after the druids? But in between? When my father was dead, and his ban of magic with him, and when you were still by my side, why didn’t you trust me then?” This time he’s the one that keeps going over Merlin’s attempts to say something, partly because he still has more to say, and partly because he’s afraid of what Merlin’s going to say to that. “But you didn’t either way, so how was I supposed to know, Merlin? How was I supposed to know I had to thank you for our changed course of luck? Because I would have, and I do.” He takes a deep breath and then reaches for Merlin’s right hand, bowing his face over it, so that he can’t see Merlin’s expression anymore. “Merlin, son of Hunith, the people of Camelot and Albion, and I, their King, thank you for your brave, and marvellous feats. We -  _ I _ am forever in your debt, and whatever you ask of me, that I will do if I can without causing harm to my people.”

 

He waits, heart in his throat, no, in Merlin’s hand, until Merlin squeezes his hand and then uses their joined hands to nudge Arthur’s chin up. When Arthur meets his gaze hesitantly, Merlin is smiling, still a bit sadly, but a smile nonetheless.

 

“Oh Arthur,” he begins softly, “I didn’t do it for any glory or riches; I did it for you, and only for you. But a little acknowledgement is nice nevertheless. So you’re welcome, I guess, and thank you, too.”

 

“But why did you leave?” Arthur asks, because really, that’s what he wants,  _ needs _ to know. Everything else is just details; magic or no magic, Merlin is still Merlin, but Arthur doesn’t know if he can truly be himself without Merlin, and he doesn’t really want to find out. Those last months of his campaign were terrible enough, but at least he never had to doubt that when he’d come back home he’d find Merlin there. To imagine them without this certainty, but with the knowledge that Merlin was gone, had left him instead is too much for Arthur to contemplate.

 

“Because there was nothing to stay for?” Merlin answers, shrugging as if he hasn’t got a care in the world, but he won’t meet Arthur’s eyes and he still hasn’t let go of Arthur’s hand either. Their joined hands are now resting on the grass between them, a frail, easily breakable connection that still holds true for now.

 

“Even before you sent me away - and you did, Arthur, you stood in front of me and told me to go - you had replaced me with George. You sent me back to Camelot, but my place has always been by your side. And when there was no longer a place for me there, there was no longer a place for me in Camelot. So I left.” Here he hesitates, and bites his lower lip until it turns pale, before releasing it, so that Arthur can see the blood rushing back, turning it pink and plump, and continuing: “And I don’t regret it; I really don’t, Arthur. There’s a place for me here, and it might not be filled with glory and destiny, but it’s there. And I’ve learned so much about my magic, and about  _ myself _ that I probably wouldn’t have learned in Camelot, and I’m glad I did. I’m happy here.”

 

“Oh,” is all Arthur can bring himself to say, remembering that he had come here with the intent to bring Merlin back with him to Camelot again. How could he ask him back, though, when Merlin was happy here, and hadn’t been in Camelot? But how could he just leave without at least asking?

 

“I’m glad you’re happy; that’s all I ever wanted,” he settles on eventually, but then continues on impulse, rushing to get the words out: “I just want you to know, that there  _ is  _ a place for you in Camelot, though, if you want it. There always has been. You’ve been my friend first, before my servant, for a very long time, Merlin. I thought you knew that, and I hoped that you felt similarly. I wasn’t trying to replace you; I was just trying to lessen your workload after it increased when I became King. I meant for George to take over caring for my horses, and armour, and all of those more menial tasks, and you to take on a more … senior role, as not just my servant, but perhaps my advisor as well, and I’m sorry if you didn’t want that, and if you felt I was replacing you. And I sent you home because I was worried for your safety. I was so scared you’d get injured, or killed and I couldn’t bear to lose you, not like that, not at all.” Arthur’s voice breaks then and Merlin, who has been listening silently, squeezes his hand tightly. Arthur wipes his free hand across his face, suddenly too embarrassed to look at Merlin. “Anyways,” he continues awkwardly, “I just wanted you to know that, and to know that you have got a place in Camelot, whether you are my manservant or not. But I promise I won’t bother you anymore.” 

 

He breaks their joined hand hold, feeling as though he’s breaking the last link between him and Merlin and swiftly gets up and turns his back to Merlin, all too aware that his eyes are wet. He takes a few steps away before stopping again, still facing away, and repeating, throat tight: 

 

“I really am glad you are happy, Merlin.”

 

Arthur swallows and starts walking away, sure that this had been the last time he’d seen Merlin, desperate to catch one last glimpse of him, but not daring to turn around one last time because he knows he wouldn’t be able to turn away again. The sound of feet hitting the forest floor behind is the only warning he gets before a body slams into his from behind, arms wrapping around him in a vice grip.

 

“You utter clotpole,” Merlin whispers into his ear and squeezes even harder. Arthur turns around in his hold and hugs Merlin back just as hard, burying his face in Merlin’s neck.

 

“That’s still not a real word, you know. No matter how often you use it,” he says, voice thick, and Merlin just snorts wetly and pinches him gently.

 

They stand there embracing each other silently until Arthur has lost all track of time. But eventually Merlin draws back slightly and Arthur reluctantly lets go of him. He expects it to be awkward, for Merlin to move away from him now, but Merlin just grabs his hand and tugs Arthur to sit back down on the grass with him. 

 

They sit in silence for a few moments before they both start talking at the same time. Arthur bites his lip and gestures for Merlin to say his part first.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I have magic,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur earnestly.

 

“I’m sorry I made you feel as though you couldn’t tell me,” Arthur replies, and adds:

 

“And I wanted to say sorry for just sending you away, and letting you think I was replacing you with George, instead of just talking to you.”

 

Merlin shakes his head, grinning slightly. 

 

“It seems as if we should have just talked a whole lot more in general.”

 

And so they do.

 

They spend the entire afternoon talking in that clearing, about the war, about Camelot, about their  _ destiny _ . Because yes, apparently Merlin not only has magic, but is actually the last dragonlord, who can talk to the last dragon on earth, who told him that he and Arthur share a destiny. Apparently Merlin believes they’ve already fulfilled it now that Arthur is High King of all of Albion, but Arthur doesn’t really agree.

 

“This isn’t the end of it, Merlin, you know? Albion isn’t truly united yet, not where it counts! Its people, the heart of the land,  _ magic _ !”

 

“What, and now you expect me to fix that?” Merlin demands, but his eyes are still twinkling, so Arthur knows he isn’t really mad at him, not like he was earlier.

 

“Yes! I mean, no - I mean, I think we could both fix that - together?” Arthur still stumbles over his own response, because he still wants, needs Merlin back in Camelot with him, but just if Merlin wants that, too. He’s made enough decisions that affected Merlin without giving Merlin a choice for a lifetime. Merlin’s not looking convinced yet, so Arthur takes a deep breath, and starts again:

 

“I meant what I said earlier. There will always be a place in Camelot for you, no matter what. I’d like for that place to be by my side, but if that’s not what you want, there will still be a place for you. But I,” he hesitates, swallowing hard, “I miss you, Merlin, I wish you were next to me again, as my servant, or advisor, or  _ court sorcerer _ , or whatever, just,  _ there _ .”

 

“You’d make me  _ court sorcerer _ ?” Merlin asks, sounding incredulous. 

 

“Well, if you don’t think you’re good enough,” Arthur teases, trying to gloss over his emotional display just a moment ago. Merlin gasps in outrage and lightly shoves Arthur, who can’t stop a grin from forming on his face.

 

“Not good enough? You don’t even know half of what I’m capable of doing, what I’ve done!”

 

“So tell me!” Arthur challenges him, but to his surprise Merlin shakes his head.

 

“That’d take way too long! Have you seen how low the sun has gotten? It’s late; we should get back. Will you be okay with my mother’s cooking again? I’m afraid she hasn’t improved much since the last time you were here,” he says, moving to stand up.

 

Arthur takes the hand that’s offered to him and stands up as well.

 

“I’m sure your mother’s cooking will be as lovely as always,” he says politely, brushing some grass and flowers from his trousers, but Merlin just jabs him with his elbow and says:

 

“Save it for my mother; she’s the one that can kick you out into the wilderness, not me.”

 

By unspoken agreement they start walking towards the village together, so close that their shoulders brush with every second step and that Arthur’s fingers trail across the back of Merlin’s hand now and again. He’s filled with the ridiculous desire to just grab it, and hold hands for the rest of the way, but is able to stifle the impulse somehow. Occasionally Merlin’s fingers touch Arthur’s hand in a slow caress as well and Arthur can’t help but shiver at the sensation. 

 

Hunith welcomes them with a warm meal and a ready made bed. 

 

Her bed. 

 

It takes Arthur some really quick talking and hard work to convince Hunith that he’s absolutely fine with the floor, and that she’d better just sleep in her bed because Arthur is not going to take it. He didn’t take her bed when he was the Crown Prince, and no, he’s not going to take it now that he’s the King either.

 

And eventually Arthur again finds himself lying next to Merlin on the floor of his mother’s home. This time, though, they are not head to toe. Arthur doesn’t care about propriety anymore. There’s no one here to see, to judge him, and anyways, Merlin isn’t his servant anymore, Arthur can’t force him to endure Arthur’s probably smelly feet in his face during the entire night. And if Arthur’s being quite honest, he’d prefer to see Merlin’s face rather than his toes as well.

 

It’s dark and Arthur is about to slip away into slumber when Merlin suddenly whispers next to him:

 

“Arthur? Do you want to see something?”

 

Arthur turns to face Merlin and nods before realising that Merlin probably can’t see him well enough, and whispering back: 

 

“What is it, Merlin?”

 

There’s a moment of silence and then Arthur can suddenly see Merlin’s eyes clearly in the dark because they are glowing golden now.

 

“My magic,” Merlin breathes, and adds some words that Arthur doesn’t understand that make flames flicker into existence, dancing in between them, throwing shadows and flashes of fire across Merlin’s face. Arthur can’t help but stare at him in awe.

 

Merlin looks like something, someone from the other world, not quite human,  _ more _ than human. The shadows make his cheekbones stand out even more than usual, throwing them into sharp relief. And still his eyes are glowing brighter than the flames between them, ensnaring Arthur. 

 

“Watch,” Merlin suddenly whispers, and then the sparks slowly gather into a shape that Arthur recognises, until he’s face to face with a fiery version of his own crest, the golden dragon of Camelot.

 

“Oh,” Arthur gasps, stretching out a hand towards the dragon without thinking. Merlin makes a frantic noise and the dragon blinks out of existence, but it’s already too late. Arthur’s fingers throb where he touched the apparition because it turns out that magical fire burns just as hot as real fire. 

 

“Arthur, you dollophead!” Merlin hisses and then a pale blue light appears above their heads. When Arthur looks up towards its source, he sees something that he recognises: the orb that led him towards the mortaeus flower when Merlin drank poison for him.

 

“Was that you?” Arthur asks, somehow finding it hard to believe that Merlin used magic all the way back then, despite all of the revelations of this day. He’s going to have to go carefully through all of his memories since Merlin became his manservant to try to discover when magic was involved without Arthur being aware of it. ‘Or you could just ask Merlin about it,’ a voice whispers inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Morgana. It might actually be Morgana, what with all the magic abilities that Arthur is learning about lately.

 

“Of course it was me, who else did you think?” Merlin scoffs, and sits up, reaching for Arthur’s burnt hand. “Now let me see the damage.”

 

Arthur has to suppress a shiver when Merlin’s long fingers wrap around his hand and draw it up towards Merlin’s face, the glowing sphere drifting down to cast more light on Arthur’s hand, which is looking slightly red. It feels awkward to be lying there, while Merlin is sitting and looking down on him, so Arthur gingerly sits up as well, careful not to tug his hand out of Merlin’s grasp. 

 

“It’s nothing,” he tries to feign, but Merlin just smirks and asks: “So it doesn’t hurt if I do  _ this _ ?” and presses a nail into Arthur’s index finger suddenly. Arthur flinches and bites back a yelp, making Merlin tut and blow on Arthur’s finger lightly. 

 

It surprises a laugh out of Arthur and Merlin quickly grins at him before focussing back on Arthur's finger. He studies it for a moment and then whispers a few words that make it feel as though cool water is trickling down his fingers, soothing the ache from the burn. The sensation continues for a few long minutes and Arthur has to look down to make sure that his sleeve isn’t getting wet. So he doesn’t notice Merlin's head ducking down until a pair of lips presses against his finger.

 

“Better?” Merlin asks softly, looking up at Arthur through his lashes, who finds that his throat has suddenly become very tight.

 

“I might need some more kisses,” Arthur tries to say, but his voice is so hoarse that he isn’t even sure that Merlin can hear him. It doesn't seem so, because Merlin doesn't react other than dropping Arthur's hand. Arthur has to admit - if only to himself - that he’s a little disappointed. Not that he wanted to kiss Merlin - or Merlin to kiss him.

 

Okay, perhaps a little.

 

It’s not a new realisation; Arthur has found himself contemplating whether Merlin's lips are as soft as they look once or twice before or daydreaming about nibbling on Merlin's ears, but it’s never been more than that - a dream. They were prince and servant, with no chance of anything more between them. But now a little traitorous hope fills him that there might be a chance after all. Arthur won’t, can’t make the first step though; too scared that Merlin won’t say ‘no’ even though he wants to, just because he’s been Arthur's servant for so long. The voice in his head that sounds like Morgana reminds him that Merlin has never shown any problems with saying no to Arthur, but Arthur still won't take that chance.

 

Fortunately, Merlin doesn’t seem to have such qualms because he just presses another kiss to Arthur’s fingers, and after a moment of hesitation, a more lingering kiss against Arthur’s palm. 

 

“How about now?” Merlin whispers and Arthur can only swallow in response, too aware of every small point where they are touching, one of Merlin’s knobbly knees pressing into Arthur’s thigh, Merlin’s hands still holding Arthur’s, fingers lightly stroking across Arthur’s burns, almost as if Merlin isn’t even aware that he’s doing it, every stroke leaving a blessed cooling sensation behind. And then there’s Merlin’s eyes, their gaze a touch of their own, not physical, but all the deeper for it. His eyes are swirling gold again and Arthur is getting dizzy just looking into them but it’s not enough to make him look away. In the end it’s Merlin who breaks first, looking back down at where he’s still playing with Arthur’s fingers.

 

“We should try and sleep some; tomorrow’s going to be a long day,” he says quietly and Arthur can’t really call the sinking feeling in his stomach anything but disappointment. Here in the quiet and dark of night, things seem possible that Arthur’s afraid the day will only chase away again. Instead of voicing his thoughts, though, he asks: “What have you got planned for tomorrow, then,  _ Mer _ lin?”

 

Merlin grins and Arthur is too far gone to do anything but compare it to the sun and find the sun lacking.

 

“You wanted to be a farmer once, didn’t you?” Merlin says and Arthur suddenly already knows what’s coming next: “Well, tomorrow I’ll make a farmer out of you!” Merlin ends triumphantly and Arthur groans loudly, even though he doesn’t mind trying his hand at real hard work, not just fencemanship. But his groan makes Merlin grin again and shush him, even going so far as to lay a finger against Arthur’s lips, so Arthur’s willing to play up the spoiled prince part.

 

“Oh come on, don’t be a - what was it - girl’s petticoat?” Merlin teases and Arthur really needs to get a handle on things if Merlin calling him names makes him giddy. 

 

“You’ll eat those words tomorrow,  _ Mer _ lin,” he boasts instead of doing something stupid like starting a tickle fight just because he wants to get even closer to Merlin. “Your fields will never have been as dug up as when I will dug them up tomorrow!”

 

Merlin dissolves into giggles that - while Arthur is glad to hear them - are totally undeserved. 

 

“That doesn’t even make sense, Arthur! And anyways, it’s not digging time; it’s plucking time!”

 

Arthur has to bite back a comment about what - or rather whom - he’d like to pluck and so Merlin continues uninterrupted:   
  


“But I’m sure that we can fit in some digging if you fancy it so much! Sleep first, though,” he repeats and gently pushes against Arthur’s shoulder until Arthur lies down again, body turned to face Merlin, who lies down as well, facing Arthur in turn. The glowing orb lowers until it’s hovering just above the gap between their hands. Arthur can’t say for sure, but he thinks they are lying closer together than when they first went to bed. 

 

The last thing Arthur sees before the orb blinks out of existence are Merlin’s eyes, glowing golden as if filled with the warmest flame. The darkness that settles upon the room is only broken by one last whisper:

 

“Good night, Arthur. I’m really happy you are here.”

 

~*~

 

The next few days are possibly the most fun days he’s had in his entire life, but definitely the most fun days Merlin has had since he came back to Ealdor. He tries not to think that something was missing before, some element that made these last days so great, but it’s hard to ignore said element when it’s grinning at him with mussed hair and ruddy cheeks. Merlin has been working Arthur ragged, directing him to pluck this, tie up that, dig there, water here, and Arthur has been loving every second of it. 

 

They’ve made plenty of breaks, too, sitting under the shade of the apple trees, or with their feet cooling in the small stream curving past Ealdor, sharing some of the produce they’d gathered earlier or whatever Hunith had prepared for them that morning. It’s then that they talk about most of what they’ve missed. Merlin tells Arthur what he did when Arthur had sent him home, how he’d fought for Camelot, for Arthur. He tries to gloss over the rest of it, the hunger, cold, and sleeplessness, not wanting Arthur’s pity, nor his guilt, but by the way Arthur’s jaw tightens and his lips go thin, Arthur is able to read between the lines and he doesn’t like what he hears there. Neither says anything aloud, though.

 

Instead, Arthur tells him what he’s been doing since Merlin left Camelot, how Morgana went to study with the druids, taking Gwen and Lancelot with her. Arthur confesses that he sent Lancelot ostensibly as protection for Morgana and Gwen, “but really, what would he be able to do against the druids? To be honest, I’m just hoping that he and Gwen finally figure things out between them! It’s taken them long enough already,” Arthur complains and if Merlin is secretly glad that Arthur does not seem to harbour any romantic feelings for Gwen any longer, if he ever truly did, then that’s between his conscious and him alone. 

 

Leon has taken over training the knights from Arthur, who almost pouts when he tells Merlin that. He’s quick to praise Leon, saying that he’s doing a marvelous job, but Merlin can tell that Arthur misses it, misses the knights in general. He still gets to see Leon regularly, because Leon reports back to him directly and seems to be his second-in-command in pretty much all things as far as Merlin can tell, and Elyan as well, though less often. While Elyan still appeared to be trying to find his place in Camelot when Merlin left, he seems to have found it in taking over Leon’s former duties in caring for the pages and squires in the meantime. 

 

But Lancelot has been with the druids as long as Merlin has been gone, and Gwaine and Percival have been away from the castle even longer. Arthur had sent them on a diplomatic mission as soon as the war had been won, and one mission had led to another and then another and so on. Merlin never would have expected it, but apparently Gwaine and Percival are really good at their new task, from what Arthur is saying. Gwaine knows how to behave himself, and when he doesn’t want to behave himself anyways, Percival is both intimidating and polite enough to keep the situation under control.

 

A small part of Merlin that he hadn’t even been aware had been tight with worry relaxes at that information. He hadn’t wanted to presume anything, but it feels good to know that those knights he’d considered friends hadn’t been simply ignoring his absence, but were for the most part not even aware that he was no longer in Camelot and at Arthur’s side. Well, the last part is obviously finally true again.

 

Slowly the realisation has been setting in though that they have been living on borrowed time here, that, as great a job as Morgana is surely doing, Arthur can’t just live in Ealdor as a farmer forever. And when he’ll leave again, Merlin will have to decide whether to join him, or to stay behind.

 

Those aren’t topics for the daylight, though.

 

The hard conversations happen at night, sometimes with Merlin’s orb spilling some light across them, making Arthur’s hair glow like a crown around his head, his blue eyes dark as mountain pools underneath. The dark is where Merlin truly spills his heart, tells Arthur about all the people he has killed for him, how they haunt his dreams, but how his lack of regret haunts him even more. The dark is where Arthur wrestles with the shadow of his father, the light that Arthur only saw for the longest time, the great warrior, fair king, until he realised that bright light casts an even deeper shadow, full of hatred and fear and death. The dark is where they carefully approach the feeling that they share and that divides them most, that sense of betrayal, of loss, because of misunderstandings, miscommunication, and misery.

 

The one question neither asks is: “What now?”

 

Merlin assumes that Arthur doesn’t ask because he’s afraid of Merlin’s answer, and Merlin doesn’t ask because he doesn’t know what his answer would be. He doesn’t really want to go back to being Arthur’s manservant, particularly when it means mucking out his stables and seeing Arthur at best every three or four days. But having spent so much time one on one with him again, he knows that he wants to stay away from Arthur entirely even less. He left Camelot for a reason, though, and it was a good reason, and Merlin doesn’t regret leaving when he did. He doesn’t want to just go back and continue as though nothing has changed, as though he hasn’t changed. 

 

Because he has, Merlin has changed. 

 

Not as much as during his time in Camelot perhaps, not as profoundly as Arthur has changed him, but changed nonetheless. He has lost his suspiciousness, has stopped looking over his shoulder constantly, and developed a whole new relationship with his magic. At the end of the war, Merlin felt almost completely separated from his magic; it was just a tool to be wielded, a sword which he used to kill people and which he just wanted to throw away.

 

In Ealdor he’d turned it into a ploughshare instead, into a shovel, shears, and butterflies.

 

And he isn’t sure if he can go back to purely wielding his magic as a sword again.

 

But leaving Arthur? Or rather, watching Arthur leave, which is so much worse for some reason. 

 

Merlin is sure that he can’t do that.

 

~*~

 

Arthur knows he has to leave, should have left days ago, but he just can’t make himself pack his things and go. 

 

For the love of Camelot, he needs to go, though, go back and be her king, even if that means leaving Merlin behind. And leaving Merlin behind would be leaving his heart behind, Arthur has realised and finally admitted to himself.

 

So he gives himself one last day, one day to be a farmer, Merlin at his side, no crown on his head, no weight on his shoulders but that of a bag full of ripe apples. And tonight he will tell Merlin about his feelings and ask him to come back with him to Camelot one last time, and tomorrow he will leave.

 

~*~

 

Arthur is acting weird and Merlin fears that he knows why. Arthur is very insistent on how today is supposed to go, breakfast with Hunith, then some work in the fields, lunch in the clearing where Merlin was entertaining the children when Arthur first arrived in Ealdor, then gathering apples, cooling their feet in the little stream, and finally dinner again with Merlin’s mother. It all felt very much like Arthur was saying goodbye - to Ealdor, to his dream of being a farmer, not a king, and to Merlin. But Arthur doesn’t say anything, so Merlin tries his best to ignore the growing lump of anxiety in his gut.

 

That night, Arthur sits up again as soon as Hunith has gone to bed, making Merlin sit up as well, convinced that this is it, this is Arthur telling him he’s leaving, going back to Camelot, leaving Merlin behind.

 

First, Arthur starts of with something else, though: “Remember when I got injured? Just before I sent you away, I mean?”

 

Merlin nods, ducking his head; it’s not as though he’s going to forget that night anytime soon. Memories flash through his mind, Arthur’s blood hot and red on his fingers, Arthur’s face white and shocked, and then cold and stony as he tells Merlin to go, to leave him. The breaking of Merlin’s heart is not so much a memory but an injury that’s only lately started healing with Arthur’s presence near Merlin again.

 

Arthur thankfully doesn’t seem to expect a verbal response because he just nods as well and continues: “I got injured because of you that day.”

 

When Merlin’s head snaps up because - what the hell? - Arthur shakes his head hurriedly and explains: “Not  _ because of you _ because of you, but because of me because of you! I mean -”

 

He stutters to a halt and Merlin just raises an eyebrow at him because again: What the hell?

 

Arthur takes a deep breath and starts again: “I knew you were on the battlefield as well and I was so worried for you that I couldn’t focus properly, and if you aren’t concentrating on the battlefield, you get injured or worse, killed. That’s why I sent you away, out of purely selfish reasons, yes, to keep you safe, but also to keep myself safe. I was hoping I’d stop thinking about you if you weren’t there all the time, but it didn’t work. I still couldn’t stop thinking about you and I couldn’t make sure anymore that you were safe in the evening either. And I just wanted to let you know that. The thing with George and the stables was a misunderstanding , but sending you away was purely my fault, and I know I already apologised for it, but I need to do it again. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

 

Merlin doesn’t really know what to say in response. “It’s okay” doesn't work because it isn't. But Merlin is able to admit now that neither is it okay for Arthur to take on all of the blame for that particular mess. Arthur seems to be going somewhere with this, though, so Merlin just stays quiet for the moment. 

 

There’s a short pause and then Arthur continues, suddenly switching topic. 

 

“I’m going to go back to Camelot tomorrow.”

 

This time Merlin honestly can't say anything, his throat tight and tongue frozen. Knowing it was coming hadn’t been enough to prepare him apparently. He doesn't know if he makes a noise or if his face expresses his feelings loudly enough, but something makes Arthur lean in towards him and take his hand. Merlin grips his fingers tightly like a lifeline, desperate for that connection, fleeting as it might be now.

 

Arthur squeezes his hand and repeats: “I’m going back to Camelot tomorrow and I want you to come back with me.”

 

“Arthur,” Merlin starts hesitantly, not even sure yet what he’s going to say next, but Arthur interrupts him again: “Just - hear me out, please?”

 

Arthur waits, looking intently at Merlin until he nods, bolstered by Arthur's fingers trembling ever so slightly in his grip. It’s a welcome reminder that Arthur is as affected as Merlin.

 

“I know now that I can live without you if I have to,” Arthur says, “but that I don’t want to, if I can help it. So I’m asking you to come back to Camelot with me.” 

 

He stops talking but when Merlin opens his mouth to answer, Arthur continues hurriedly as if he’s scared that if he doesn’t say whatever he wants to say now, he’s never going to say it:

 

“I’ve got something to tell you before you decide, though, and I hope it’s not going to change anything between us, or rather I hope it’s going to change things between us, but not for the worse!”

 

Arthur’s uncharacteristic anxious rambling strangely serves to relax Merlin in turn, making him squeeze Arthur’s hands gently and say: “Breathe, Arthur. Just tell me, it’s alright.”

 

It takes a few deep breaths and some more hand-squeezing from Merlin, but eventually Arthur swallows one last time and then says, voice steady but for the tiniest tremor:

 

“I love you, Merlin. As a friend, my best friend, and more. I’m not expecting anything, anything at all; I just wanted to finally tell you.”

 

~*~

 

Arthur presses his eyes shut after the words he has held back for longer than he even knew himself have finally left his mouth. He waits - for a shout, a slap, a draft of air as Merlin moves away from him.

 

Instead, there’s a soft press of lips against his, followed by Merlin sighing “Oh, Arthur” and yet another kiss, this one firmer and more lingering. When Merlin draws back, Arthur slowly opens his eyes and finds Merlin much closer than he’d expected. Merlin’s eyes are twinkling stars in the dark and Arthur’s breath is literally stolen from him, escaping in a gasp that makes Merlin’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

 

Merlin presses another quick kiss against Arthur’s lips, almost as if he can’t help himself and then says: “I love you, too, Arthur, so much. And while I don’t regret leaving Camelot, I wish it hadn’t meant leaving you. It has been - I’ve missed you so much, not just here in Ealdor, but before, too. I don’t want to leave you again - or let you leave. I just don’t know what my place in Camelot would be now; you’ve said it yourself often enough, I’m a terrible servant!”

 

Arthur’s eyes are very wide and blue and earnest.

 

“You were the best servant I’ve ever had!” 

 

Merlin can’t hold back a scoff because he might not have believed all of Arthur’s complaints, but neither does he believe this praise. He’s well aware of his own talents and failings and perfect servitude definitely belongs more to the latter. Arthur’s grin gives him away and Merlin shoves him gently, biting back his own grin. Sobering again slightly, Arthur continues:

 

“You have a place in Camelot, Merlin, whatever you want it to be. You don’t have to be my manservant, you could be my advisor, or court sorcerer, or consort.”

 

Merlin chokes on a laugh because what?

 

“Are you proposing marriage, Arthur?” he asks and watches with delight as Arthur’s cheeks redden slowly until he’s blushing furiously. 

 

“Isn’t that a little - forward?” Merlin teases and Arthur gapes wordlessly for a bit before he blusters: “Stop deflecting and answer the question, Merlin!”

 

“Which question?” Merlin asks, blinking innocently, enjoying the blush travelling down Arthur’s throat and disappearing into his shirt. Merlin wants to follow it and cover it with bites. But for now he has to satisfy himself with making Arthur squirm in other ways. “You haven’t even asked me properly yet,  _ sir _ , and anyways, shouldn’t you be on your knees for that?” 

 

Arthur is looking like a very sunburnt, very disgruntled puppy by now and just barks: “Oh shut up, Merlin!”

 

Merlin doesn’t even try to hide his grin and - after a moment’s hesitation - darts forward to press a kiss against Arthur’s burning cheek, giddy with the knowledge that he can do that now, even if he can’t quite believe it yet. Arthur ducks his head but it’s not enough to hide the pleased grin that’s spreading across his face. Merlin never quite understood how butterflies in his stomach were supposed to feel, but he thinks he knows now what Gwen was going on about when Lancelot first came to Camelot. Speaking of Camelot - 

 

“The answer is yes, by the way. Not to that question, not yet at least, ask me properly again in a year or two and we’ll talk about it. But to your first question: yes, I’ll come back to Camelot with you. I don’t regret leaving, but I know I’d regret staying away, so -”

 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Arthur has surged forward, knocking his chin into Merlin’s teeth and tumbling Merlin onto his back in the process. Arthur thankfully catches himself on his elbows before he drops with his entire weight on Merlin. It leaves him half-lying, half-kneeling on top of Merlin, blush flaring up again.

 

“Oops,” Arthur says and Merlin is overcome with love for this ridiculous, amazing human being, his closest friend, his  _ king _ . All he can do is wrap his arms around Arthur’s neck and drag him down into a kiss, a proper one this time, open, and wet, and toe curling. Arthur’s body is a warm and reassuring weight on top of him and Merlin would love to take this further, take it all the way, but there’s only a wall separating them from his mother, and these are the thin wooden walls of Ealdor, not the strong stone walls of Camelot, so Merlin gentles the kiss again. 

 

They eventually end up on their sides again, though much closer together than when they went to bed what feels like hours earlier. Merlin’s left arm is wrapped around Arthur’s waist, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, occasionally slipping beneath it to stroke across the warm skin underneath, making Arthur shudder. Arthur’s right arm lies across Merlin’s shoulders, his fingers buried in Merlin’s hair, tugging slightly from time to time to move Merlin’s head a bit so Arthur can continue laying claiming bites to Merlin’s neck to his heart’s content. Merlin has never been as glad that he has made a habit of wearing neckerchiefs, unwilling to even contemplate the amount of teasing that he’d have to face from his mum tomorrow otherwise. 

 

He falls asleep like that, wrapped in Arthur’s arms, secure in the knowledge that he’s wanted there, told so in countless little whispers and kisses pressed against his skin. He left Camelot because he’d felt he’d lost his place there. Tonight he’s back where he belongs, where he has always belonged and always will belong, right at Arthur’s side.

 

Tomorrow, in the second year of Arthur’s reign, Merlin will return to Camelot, together with his king, his friend, and lover.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a comment below or come talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com)!


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